Return To You by Leia Stone & Jennifer Millikin

Author:Leia Stone & Jennifer Millikin [Stone, Leia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-28T23:00:00+00:00

At the words, our table, Owen’s lip peel into a sly grin and he nods swiftly. Gathering one of my hands in his, he leads me away from the car, across the cobbled street, and through an arched hallway. We spill out into the main courtyard. In the center, a stone fountain gurgles. People mill about, stepping over the places where Sycamore roots have pushed against the pavers laid atop them. I look around, drinking in the architectural ingenuity, the sheer beauty of a place capable of transportation. In here, the desert we live in is but a distant memory.

"Walk first?" Owen asks me, pulling my attention from a second-story shop. "Or eat first?"

"Eat," I respond without hesitation. The hike with my mom wasn't strenuous, but the sun still has a way of sneaking in and stealing energy; it made me hungry.

The front door of the restaurant is visible from where we stand. We walk there together, and though he doesn't need to, Owen keeps a firm grasp on my hand.

And I let him.

I’m holding hands with Owen Miller. What kind of alternate universe is this?

We request a table on the patio in the corner, under an orange umbrella. Our table. When we sit, I adjust the wicker chair, dragging it closer to the table.

"It hasn't changed a bit," I remark, one finger bumping over the terra cotta tiled tabletop. Even the plants in the planter boxes along the gated patio look the same, deep green and waxy.

"No," Owen agrees. "But we have." His gaze, which is on the menu he holds in his hands, lifts to meet mine.

I don't know what to say to that, and so I choose to say nothing at all.

It’s true.

Our server comes, and we place an order for two prickly pear margaritas.

I smile at Owen when the waiter walks away, feeling a bit like I've done something naughty. "That's the first time I've ever ordered a real margarita here."

He grins. "Not for lack of trying," he reminds me.

"Oh gosh," I laugh, my eyes half-rolling. "That was embarrassing."

"It was funny," Owen corrects.

"Maybe for you," I say, picking up my menu but still peering at him above it. "I hope that server didn't get into too much trouble for serving me alcohol. I felt terrible."

It was silly, just a bet between Owen and me. He didn't think I had the guts to order a margarita and not say the word non-alcoholic while doing so. I showed him just how wrong he was. The flaw in the plan was that I didn't account for a gullible server. I assumed the server would take one look at my seventeen-year-old face and call bullshit. But no. So I decided to roll with it. The manager, however, was not as gullible as the server, and he came over before I could take a drink, apologizing profusely for their error in serving a minor who most certainly had not intended to order a real margarita. By his third I'm so sorry,

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